


Death Of A Bachelor

by TheReluctantBlue



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Body Horror, Groom's Bride-ish AU, M/M, One Shot, but enjoy, kinda fluff I think, this fic is hard to tag I dunno what else, this fic is not as dark as you think it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-29 00:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8469376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantBlue/pseuds/TheReluctantBlue
Summary: "W-Where am I?""It's a place where you're not suppose to be."Brendon wanders off into the night, drunk and wasted. He has lost all hope to live, since the love of his life left him for someone else. That person is everything he dreamed of a future with. Why bother living when that future is gone?In his drunken stupor, he brings himself into a place he's not quite familiar with, not knowing that the said place would change how he thinks about life. Or 'death', rather.





	

Brendon Urie has always wished for one thing.

A lover, a partner, and a person he'll live with till the end of their lives in a white picket fenced home, cozy and warm with their dog and children. That's all he could ever wish for.

But perhaps, wishes aren't meant to come true for some people. For people like him.

Ryan, the person he loves, has left him and chose a girl of whom he never knew about. Who was he kidding? Why did he ever think someone would stay for him?

Under the light of the moon, he trudges his way through the forest. He walks in an unstable pace under the influence of alcoholic beverage. Brendon doesn't know where he's going. He just knows he's done of it all. He's done being left behind. He's done wishing for things that would not happen.

He's done living.

Tripping over a sunken root, he let's himself fall on to the ground. The bottle of alcohol he hold flies off his grasp with a thud on the soft, loamy ground. Brendon has no will to stand anymore. Who would care, right? 

The owl hoots into the dark night, as the wind begins to pick up around him. The leaves of the trees rustle above him; then he could feel droplets of water hitting against his skin. The shift of weather covers the moonlight, and now he is left lying on the ground, over the pouring rain inside a dark forest at night.

"A mortal?" 

A soft voice speaks above him over the sound of the rain falling against the ground. He would dare look up if he was not inebriated. Brendon did not hear the mysterious person approach his side, nor could he see what the other man looks like. His body fails to function properly under his predicament. But he wanted this. He wanted this.

"You're not suppose to be here." The voice continues, the man's voice laced with what sounds like concern. Concern. For _him_. 

He could feel his body being lifted up, his arm hoisted around the mysterious man's shoulders. With what little strength and consciousness he had left, Brendon looks at his savior.

Despite the darkness that his eyes needs to adjust, he could only see little of the man's features. A silhouette of the man's structure is seen. A tall man with a strong jawline, pointed nose, and unruly hair.

Brendon groans, his body going slack against the tall figure. He begins to lose conscious, his head spinning from the effects of alcohol in his system.

As he feels his head land against the crook of the man's neck, he takes note of this odd smell from the man. Something different. But that's the last thing he remembers, as well as hearing the other man's soft spoken voice, urging him to sleep and let himself go.

****

Brendon opens his eyes and blinks bleary, clearing out the fuzzy vision of his sight.

He finds himself staring at a wooden ceiling, parts of it's wood seem on the verge of falling off. The light over the room he resides flickers at the corner of this room.

He starts to sit up, only to wince in pain as his head begins to swell from last night's events. Brendon barely remembers going to bed. Let alone to someone else's home.

"I see you're awake." 

A voice speaks up, and Brendon turns his head to find a man sitting on chair, just adjacent to his bed. Brownish hair covers almost half of the other man's face. He lived in the village almost his whole life, and yet this man in front of him is unfamiliar.

"You should go home." The brunette says in a hard tone, as if it's a warning, but his eyes say otherwise. Even with half of his eye covered by his hair, Brendon can still see the concern on his image.

"W-Where am I?"

The other man shifts his gaze, turning to the window of his room. He's silent for a moment, before he mumbles his words. "It's a place where you're not suppose to be."

Brendon feels offended at the man's attempt to drive him off. He knows he owes this man for taking care of him, but he doesn't have to point out how pathetic he is about it.

"Well, I'm sorry if I've intruded your home with my stupidity. I should--"

"You don't understand." The man cuts him off. "What I mean is, this isn't where you're suppose to be. You're in the land of the _dead_."

 _Land of the Dead._ Brendon snorts at that. He knows it's that time of the year. It's almost November. But is this man seriously in his right mind?

"Are you okay? There's no such thing as _Land of the Dead_. You might need to get your head checked, mister." Brendon says with a cheeky grin, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The brunette just sighs, then proceeds to stand from his seat and places himself beside the edge of the bed that Brendon is placed. 

It makes him curious, as to what this man is about to do next. 

"I'm going to show you something, and I want you to not freak out. If that's okay?" The man asked politely, but he seems rather annoyed about it.

"What, you're going to tell me you're dead or something?" Brendon states, letting out a few chuckles at his own words.

All the laughter ceases though, when the man brushes off the hair that covers his eyes and reveals a _hollow hole_ in his left eye. Or rather, where the eye is suppose to be. It's as if the eye that was there was ripped off from his head.

It doesn't end there, when the other man unbuttons his dress shirt, and reveals his torso, a part of it _barren_ of any flesh. Brendon pales further at the sight of the ribcage peeking out of the man's body.

"T-This is just a dream. I'm dreaming. This can't be real." Brendon utters in disbelief, trying his best to shift away from the dead, eyeless, gruesome man despite the pain that his head is giving him.

The images seared into his mind made his stomach turn, and he couldn't stop himself from releasing the contents from his stomach, puking at the memory of the horrendous image.

"I'm sorry." The brunette says guiltily, who has distanced himself from Brendon and only watched helplessly as he let's out the last of his vomit.

Of all the insane things that has happened in his life, it didn't resort to this. Brendon just knows he needs to get out of here.

"W-What do you want from me?" Brendon croaks, the taste in his mouth is foul, but he needs to get through with it. He needs to leave, embarrassment aside.

"I just want you to go home, and never come back. This isn't your place." The brunette shrugs, but he can't seem to look at Brendon in the eyes for that.

He squints at the other man suspiciously. "Then why did you bring me here?"

"I can't risk myself going to your village. Your people don't know about us, and we want to keep it that way. Just for the peace of everyone in my town and in your home, I'd rather bring you here and guide you home once you are able. That's all."

It makes sense, he guesses. If this man went to their village and the people see him... well... It might not end well.

"What's your name?" Brendon asked, when he felt himself calm down. As he stares at the man a bit longer, his mind clicks into something he remembers during his drunken stupor. It's a smell he remembered quite well and he thought it was a dream.

This man smells like jasmine flowers. It's a smell almost akin to the comfort of his home in his mother's garden.

"My name's Dallon." The man introduces meekly. Brendon could see how he attempts to raise his hand, probably for a handshake, but he sets his hand down quickly, as if fear of scaring him. His effort makes Brendon smile.

"I'm Brendon Urie." He says with a grin, making the move to raise his own hand and surprises Dallon, offering him a handshake. 

It makes the brunette return a small grin, and raises his hand cautiously to grasp Brendon's own.

" _Cold hands_." Brendon thought, but that's to be expected.

It's not often you get to meet to a dead man.

*****

After the whole ordeal from Dallon's bedroom (in which he had to help the other man clean off the vomit that he produced on Dallon's bed), he finds himself in the dining table, with Dallon in the kitchen making him something 'valid for human consumption', or so he says.

His eyes had the chance to gaze around the slightly run down place of Dallon's home. The some of the floor boards creek at their step, the window curtains are tattered, the ceiling is rather abundant of spider webs, and the whole home needs some time with dusting. 

But the dead probably don't care about cleanliness anymore. The living cares a lot for those things due to expectations, but perhaps when you're dead, you just don't mind anymore since people stop expecting things from you when your life ends.

"I've made you warm tea, for your hangover." Dallon appears, placing a cup of tea in front of him and a plate of biscuits.

"You're not British, are you?" Brendon teases, which made Dallon mumble a _'shut up and eat'_ and trudges back to the kitchen, probably to make his own food.

He takes the tea gingerly, careful not to let it spill or get his hand burned from the temperature. The smell he whiffs from the drink made him smile.

"Dallon? Is this Jasmine Tea?"

The brunette peeks his head from the other room. "Yeah, why? Don't like it?"

"No, it's good." Brendon says, blowing off the steam that emits from the warm drink. "It just smells... like you."

"Smells like me?"

Brendon takes a sip, the drink washing off the foul taste in his mouth in exchange for the fragrant taste of the tea. "You smell like Jasmines."

Dallon hums, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen. "We had lots of flowers in our home, back when I was alive. Lots of different flowers. But Jasmines were the most that was in the garden."

That piqued Brendon's interest. "So... when people die, they smell like the things that remind them of their home?"

"I didn't even know I smelled like that until you told me. That might be the case then." Dallon concludes with a warm smile, and Brendon just takes a sip of his tea, trying to distract himself from the flutter that he felt in his chest as he saw that smile.

"So, we need to take you home, Brendon. We can't risk the villagers seeing you here." Dallon mentions, the worried look on his face makes Brendon concerned for his safety.

"A-Are they gonna hurt me? Eat my brains, those stuff?"

Dallon huffs amusedly at that. "Don't be ridiculous. I worry about how those movies on the living realm are portraying us. We're not here to suck your brains out, you know? It's just silly."

"Oh." Brendon could feel the warmth on his cheeks out of embarrassment. "T-Then what are they gonna do to me?"

Dallon sighs, crossing his arms against his chest. "Well... they'll--"

"Dallon, I heard you brought a mortal home!?"

The brunette groans, as if his fears have just been granted. And Brendon sees a flash of reddish hair, and deathly pale skin of the visitor that intrudes Dallon's home.

"Oh my, it is a human. A living human. I haven't seen one in centuries." The other man says with excitement in his voice. The other man's brown eyes show warmth at the sight of him. "I'm Gerard Way. Nice to meet you, human."

Even with the kind demeanor that the red head is showing, Brendon can't help but notice the bloody, gaping hole in the other man's cheek. He could feel his stomach turn, but he tries his best to bring down the bile that is threatening to rise in his throat again. 

"Uh, B-Brendon." He says weakly, trying to shift his eyes away from the cheek. 

"Gerard, please. Can you cover your cheek first? It makes Brendon uncomfortable." Dallon interjects, offering Gerard a handkerchief. Bless Dallon for noticing his discomfort.

"Oh, right." Gerard takes the piece of cloth, wrapping it around the lower part of his face that hides his nose and mouth. Once he finishes, he turns to Brendon expectantly. "Is this okay?" 

Brendon nods eagerly with a relieved smile. It's more than okay now. 

"The whole village knows now, don't they?" Dallon asked in a mutter, and Gerard laughs at that.

"There's no secret you can hide in this village, Dal. The crows know everything."

Dallon rolls his eyes, sighing defeatedly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Yes, of course I knew that. I've been here for decades, goodness." He says with a hint of sarcasm that made Brendon stifle a chuckle.

His thoughts then return to the villagers. Brendon isn't sure what's going to happen, now that the whole village of this world knows he's here. Just what are they planning for him?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. A comforting gesture that eases his tense shoulders. "They're not going to hurt you, Brendon." Dallon says gently, trying to assure him.

"Then... what's going to happen?"

Gerard chuckles at his terrified expression, and explains. "They want to invite you for a feast and tell us stories!"

Stories? Brendon isn't quite sure what the other man meant by that.

"What Gerard means is, the villagers wanted to know what's happening in the living. They want you to tell stories." Dallon explains softly, then sighs again. "I fear you might take long here, and your family might end up looking for you. That's why I wanted to take you home as soon as possible."

"Oh." It's not bad as Brendon expected it to be. It actually sounds nice, even if he's surrounded by the dead. But they seem nice enough that they'd make a feast for him.

"Please, Brendon. You're the first mortal I've met ever since I died. Tell us what the living is like now." Gerard pleads. "It would make everyone very happy to have you here and tell us. We won't make you stay long if you don't want to. Just tell us a bit of stories. Please?"

"Yeah, sure." Brendon answers without second thought, and it made Gerard leap out of his chair with joy.

"I'm gonna tell the villagers to get ready. Don't worry. I'll tell them to dress up and make you comfortable." The red haired man says giddly, as he suddenly takes hold of Brendon's hand and shook it as a gesture of gratitude before running off to tell the villagers the announcement.

Brendon turns his gaze to Dallon, who seems surprised at the turn of events.

"Are you sure about this, Brendon? Won't they look for you at your home?"

With a sad smile, he shook his head, giving the brunette an answer. "No one's waiting for me there, anyway. It's fine."

He knows Dallon wants more answers from that statement, but he doesn't ask; in which Brendon greatly appreciates.

Time to meet the villagers then.

*****

Brendon realizes that this village is no different from his own.

The village isn't as populated as his, though. There's only a few houses. All the houses are made of stone, but you can see how most of them are on the verge of ruin. It's as if the houses have been here longer than he was born.

They pass by a few houses, and a some small shops. You would be fascinated in seeing a new place just as if you've visited a new country.

Brendon takes his time, appreciating the view as Dallon walks in front of him, answering his questions about the village's history and some of the people that reside in the neighborhood. 

"Wait, if this village is close to our village, how come I've never seen this place from afar?" Brendon asked, as he realized that fact.

Dallon stops his stride and turns to him, giving him a stern look. "Do you know what day it is today?"

"October... 31st?"

"Exactly." Dallon confirms, then turns his head to the moon above their heads. The moon looks red, and Brendon remembers his father telling him stories of the blood moon.

"Twice every year, a wall that separates the living and the dead dissipates, making our worlds connected." Dallon explains solemnly, his eyes still glued to the moon. "It's to this day that our village calls it _The Living Day_. Probably just as contrast as how you would call _Halloween_ and _All Souls Day._ "

"If your world celebrates to remember the _dead_ , we celebrate this day to remember how we _lived_." Dallon concludes. 

"So, you mean... During October 31st and November 1st, we can go to your village? And when it ends..." Brendon trails off.

"When it ends, it's as if our world never existed in your eyes." Dallon answers for him, turning to face him with an amused smile.

" _That's amazing._ " Brendon thought, as they both continued their walk. He lived his whole life, not knowing about this secret world that was just right beside his home.

"You know, you're not the first human that stumbled this village. We've gotten a few kids who thought we were in costume, thank goodness..." Dallon says, then he continues with a teasing tone. "And some silly adults like you who come here all drunk and wasted." 

"Hey!" Brendon in an mockingly offended tone.

The brunette just chuckles, then leads them to the village square. The wide park-like place was lit up by torches in each corner of the square, the fire giving light to the whole place.

Brendon can see people gathered there, expecting him. He felt his anxiety hike up that made him stop his tracks.

"You okay, Brendon?" 

He licks his lips, trying to moist his dry chapped lips. He's just going to tell a story. These people aren't here to get him, are they?

Without realizing, Dallon approached his space and takes hold of his hand. The scent of jasmine going to his senses as he squeezes on brunette's hold.

"You'll be okay, I promise." Dallon assures him with a warm smile that's enough to melt the anxiety peeking through his seams.

"Okay." He says, as he let Dallon lead him to the crowd of dead that await him, his hand holding on the brunette's hand like a life line.

*****

True to his word, Gerard did make sure the villagers dressed up.

They all have cloths that cover parts of which decays in their body. They don't seem to have an issue with it as well, so he's thankful for that.

The villagers are also very nice and have colorful personalities. The crowd welcomes him with open arms. Even if one of them-- _Patrick_ \--he thinks, accidentally detached his hand while shaking his during introduction.

Brendon just couldn't get himself to stop laughing then when he said his last name was _Stump_ though. Patrick was sport enough to laugh with him. He likes these people.

They all asked questions and request. _'How's the village?', 'Is Mrs. Sowerby still there?', 'What do you do for a living?', 'Can you tell my old friend I miss him?'_

In turn, the villagers gave their own story. All of them were charming, and somewhat bittersweet. One of the villagers, to Brendon's shock, was his old music mentor, Mr. Johnson who died 5 years ago. 

"I see you grew up well, Brendon. That's good, that's good. You were always one of my best students." He says in a fatherly way that Brendon remembers while his teacher lived.

He's not quite proud of how he lived his life, but it's nice to know that someone was proud of what he did for himself.

"What's your story, Dallon?" Brendon asked, once he was alone with the taller man. His eyes are glued to the people celebrating the day in remembrance of how they lived, with music. They all dance and eat in joyous wonder, and it's lovely to see how happy they are.

"It's not worth telling, really." Dallon says nonchalantly with a shrug. 

Brendon bumps against his shoulder, urging the other man. "Come on. Everyone told their story. Tell me yours." 

He takes a small glance at the taller man. He could see Dallon biting his lips, as if he's thinking about it. Perhaps it's too personal. Brendon would understand if he doesn't want to tell.

"I... used to be a musician." Dallon starts hesitantly, but he continues on, telling Brendon about how he used to play at the local bar at night. He realizes it's the same bar he works at right now. 

"I was about to get married, you know?" Dallon says with a melancholic smile, his gaze turning to the sky above him. "But, accidents happen, and that's why I'm here."

Brendon wondered about that. People die each day. Shouldn't there be more people here in this village?

"The people who live here, are those who still have attachments to the people that they left behind." Dallon explains softly. "Gerard is here because he loves his brother, who's still alive. Patrick can't go because of his family and best friend. All of us here have attachments that are hard to let go."

"And you're here for your fiancée?"

Dallon shrugs at that, a bittersweet smile gracing his lips when he faced Brendon. 

"Breezy, she... she didn't know I died."

That sounds heartbreaking to hear, that the love of your life died without you knowing.

"Do you still love her? Is that why you're still here?" Brendon asked in wonder. Dallon mentioned he's been here for decades. Do the feelings stay?

"In all honesty... It's either a ' _yes I do'_ or ' _yes, I did_ '. It's been years, you know? _'I do, I did, I used to, I loved her once, I always did'_ and all that. But when has humanity ever stopped loving?" Dallon answers him, crossing his arms as his eyes turn back to the villagers.

Brendon couldn't help but stare at Dallon as a small, fond smile graces his lips when he explains. "Feelings of love disappear. But it doesn't just end, you know? You will love a new instrument, you will fall in love with just how lovely the setting sky is, you're going to cherish yourself a lover by your side, or..." He trails off, his eyes giving a soft look as he watches the villagers dance in joy. "Or, you're going to love the people around you."

The brunette turns to Brendon with a grin as if he's proud of something. "You will keep loving things till the end of your days, and those things will make you stay, or tell you to stay when you least expect it. Love doesn't just end once you die."

It sounded poetic in Brendon's ears. It's something he probably needed to hear, too. Even with Ryan leaving him, there's something out there that would be worth loving. Something worth making him want to keep living.

The others that have died probably found what they want for themselves. While these people are still here, standing for something worth living for. And they're not ready to let them go when it's there.

He now knows he's not letting go anytime soon.

*****

"So, I was thinking if I can come back?"

It's something he thought about as Dallon led him back to the forest where they first met. The villagers gave him a charm as a thank you for his stories. It's something he will cherish in a long time. But after all of the festivities and meeting new people, he wondered if should this even be the last of it. 

Dallon just snorts at his words, then shook his head with a chuckle. "You're crazy."

"And you're dead, so we're even."

They both laugh at that, but didn't dwell on it again as they continue to trudge through the lush forest. When they both sight his village, Dallon turns to him with a soft smile.

"I would rather not have you back here and go live your life happily. But we don't mind having you back as a visitor, as long as you don't tell anyone. Can you promise that?" 

Brendon then didn't hesitate to approach Dallon's space, taking hold of his cold hand and squeezing it with assurance. "I promise."

"Then, you can have this." 

Dallon takes off a necklace, and places it in Brendon's hand. It was a chained necklace with a silver ring in it.

"Wherever Breezy was, I knew she lived a happy life. If she didn't, she would have been here, and that's all I could ask for." Dallon shrugs at that. "So, you know. If you ever find the one for you, you can give them this ring and be happy or whatever."

"Are you sure, Dallon?"

Dallon closes his hand against the ring in his palm, and shifts his expression with a gentle smile; something that will always make Brendon's stomach flutter.

When Dallon let's go, he gives Brendon a little push towards his village. With a wave of his hand back at the him, the taller man starts to walk towards his home. And Brendon walks to his own.

"Hey, Dallon?" Brendon speaks, stopping his stride to say one last thing to the other man. He doesn't turn to look at him, though. He fears he can't keep his blush in tact if he does.

"Yeah?" Dallon responds, sounding a bit far away than he was before. But with a deep breath, Brendon continues in a voice a bit louder than before, for the other man to hear.

"If you keep smiling like that, I may have to give this ring back to you."

"What? Why?"

Brendon couldn't stop himself from grinning. It's good that Dallon doesn't see his expression. With a shrug of his shoulders, he responds. "To be happy, or whatever."

He doesn't wait for Dallon to respond as he whistles happily, and continues to walk towards his own home. His thoughts return to the village, and takes note to write on the calendar for his next visit.

Brendon opens his palm to stare at the silver ring, glimmering against the sun's light. 

It's not everyday people bring home a lesson from the dead, but when you do, you're going to live for it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A (long ass) fic I should have posted for Halloween but was too late so I'm posting this now sorry. Is it weird? It's kinda Groom's Bride-ish setting.
> 
> I hope you guys like it??


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